


Fool For Sacrifice

by nerdy_farm_girl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (but not really), Canon Compliant, Car Sex, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Implied Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Love Confessions, Mates, Nightmares, Phone Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sleep Deprivation, implied scott mccall/kira yukimura - Freeform, mentioned panic attacks, through s5A
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4719002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdy_farm_girl/pseuds/nerdy_farm_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If she doesn't want to sleep, or she can't sleep, she just texts Derek, and within minutes he's at the end of her driveway, the Camaro’s engine purring. Sometimes she has to tiptoe past her mom’s room, not that she wants to hide this or anything. But this, whatever this is with Derek, is private. She doesn't want to share him with anyone, doesn't want to explain what's so special about driving around in silence with a broody werewolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. California Never Felt Like Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I listen to Badlands on repeat for three days straight, and then make a Pandora Station that is: Lana Del Rey, Lorde, Halsey and Hozier (ya'll know how I get with Lana Del Rey and Dydia). Anyways, this will be three chapters long, each chapter kind of inspired by one of the songs from Badlands. 
> 
> Title of the fic is from [Coming Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRXO77hJGKA) by Halsey
> 
> Cross Posted on Tumblr  
> Not betaed, all mistakes are my own.

_All we do is drive_

_All we do is think about the feelings that we hide_

_All we do is sit in silence waiting for a sign_

_Sick and full of pride_

_All we do is drive_

_\- Drive, Halsey_

There was a time when Lydia experienced dreamless, peaceful sleep. She woke each morning bright eyed and bushy tailed and didn't even think about the number of her friends that might actually have bushy tails.

These days sleep is rare. Sometimes she tries, turns off her lights and closes the blinds, lies on her bed with simulated rain playing on her phone. Occasionally this method works, and her eyes will flutter closed, darkness seeping into the edges of her vision. But the nightmares always come. Dirty, bloody water in a tub. Peter Hale, burned and scarred, telling her to scream. A monster wearing one of her best friends faces, rubbing his nose against her cheek. Kissing Jackson only to find herself paralyzed. Dragging Derek Hale through the woods, then suddenly finding their roles reversed, her head bumping against roots and leaves caught in her hair. Screaming Allison’s name, unable to stop the sword from piercing her chest. Creatures protected by armor made of bones, backing her into a corner. Watching as Brunski puts a power drill to Scott’s temple.

There's a never ending list of horrors for her brain to choose from, taking her real life nightmares and twisting them, taking away her control, turning her friends into cruel monsters and helpless victims alike. Most nights it's just easier to stay awake.

It's one in the morning, but Lydia doesn't bother pretending to be asleep. Her mother is off on a girls' trip to Hawaii, and she feels safer with the lights on. The summer reading assigned to all incoming freshman at Brown is cracked open against her knees, but she's not reading it. Her thoughts wander, thinking about leaving, about living three thousand miles away from her mom and her friends. Her pack.

Going to Brown is the right choice, obviously. She's not about to pass up a full ride scholarship to a prestigious Ivy League school, even if it is on the other side of the country. Kira had cried when she told her, and Stiles had looked like he wanted to argue. Scott had just smiled sadly and hugged her, promising to make this summer count. Lydia sighs and swallows hard, forcing back the lump in her throat and wishing away the burn behind her eyes. There's  a month until she leaves, and the weekends ahead are chock full of plans, beach days and house parties and camping trips. Lydia isn’t usually sentimental but she finds herself cherishing each moment with her friends, trying to commit it to memory.

She's afraid.

But no one needs to know that. She hides it behind false confidence and sarcasm and flicks of her hair, ignoring the concerned looks from Scott and the calculating expression on Stiles’ face. Her eyes feel heavy and she rubs at them, forcing herself to focus on the pages in front of her, blinking hard until the words come into focus.

On the bed beside her, her phone buzzes.

**Derek Hale: are you okay?**

She frowns at her phone, unsure if he even meant to send her that text. Derek had mysteriously returned for their graduation, sitting between Chris Argent and Deputy Parrish in the back row, aviator sunglasses glinting in the sunlight, the epitome of cool. Lydia had spotted him immediately from her spot on stage, although her attempts to communicate with Stiles via eyebrow raising and glaring had been unsuccessful. Derek had stayed after, offering a very vague explanation of what he'd been up to for the past year, but promising he was home to stay.

**Me: yes?**

**Derek Hale: you should be sleeping**

**Me: well someone is texting me**

**Derek Hale: your light is on**

**Me: ignoring how creepy that is. I just don't want to sleep okay**

**Derek Hale: I was just driving by. You're not the only one who avoids sleep**

Clutching her phone on her hand, Lydia climbs off her bed and crosses to her window, peering through the curtains. Sure enough, there's a car idling at the end of her driveway, the brightness and obnoxious placement of the lights giving it away as a sports car. The sight sends little thrills of excitement down her spine, heart jumping at the possibility of breaking some unspoken rule.

**Derek Hale: you can come drive with me if you want**

She glances at her reflection in the mirror, taking in her cotton shorts and the Beacon Hills Lacrosse shirt she's pretty sure belongs to Liam, her make up free face and her hair knotted on top of her head. Usually she wouldn't let anyone see her like this, without her armor, but it's not like Derek has any room to judge. And it's not like she's worried he'll think less of her. If anyone knows better than to judge a woman by her appearance, it's Derek.

**Me: be right there**

Shoving her feet into a pair of flip flops, she flicks off her light and heads down the stairs, grabbing her keys before stepping outside. The air is thick with fog, moisture already beading on her lip. Maybe it will rain later. _Hopefully_ it will rain and break this horrible humidity. Her hair is frizzing around her face by the time she slides into the passenger seat of the Camaro, but Derek barely spares her a glance before peeling away from the house.

The seats are buttery leather, surrounding her like a warm hug. There has to be a black ice air freshener hidden somewhere, an old one maybe, the scent faint enough to be pleasant but still good. Derek's face is glowing just slightly in the red and white dashboard lights, his eyes reflecting blue whenever they pass another car. He looks softer than she remembers, dark hair tousled and mouth less harsh. Could his beard be as soft as it looks? He's wearing a t-shirt that actually fits, even though the sleeves still stretch tight around his biceps. It's not that she never noticed that Derek handsome, she just never considered him. Still doesn't, not really.

Derek still isn't looking at her, one hand curled around the stick shift, the other draped over the wheel. His eyes look almost glazed, trained on yellow lines in front of them. It should be uncomfortable she thinks, staring at the knuckles on his hand, the long fingers rubbing patterns onto the shifter. But she did invade his private time, even if he invited her.

It's nice though. It's easy.

With the pack, there's never silence, never a moment to even hear herself think. Mason's jibber jabbering about his latest research and Kira's babbling awkwardly and Malia is making blunt comments and Stiles will fill any awkward silence with cringe worthy commentary.

So this is nice.

She turns her attention to the dark scenery flashing by, the trees turning into buildings, back roads turning into freeways. Rain starts to fall, and she watches the drops race down the window, her eyes starting to feel heavy. The windshield wipers seem to match the rhythm of the soft music playing on the radio, just loud enough to catch the beat. With every passing exit sign her brain settles, thoughts turning from missing her friends to planning their beach trip, to wondering if Derek's lips taste like the pink starburst she knows he hides in his center console.

 

She wakes up the next morning tucked into her bed, feeling rejuvenated. It takes her a moment to figure out why the feeling is so bizarre, until she realizes she didn't even _dream_. And that she doesn't remember how she got home. With a groan she reaches for her phone, unable to stop the smile at the sight of Derek's name on the screen.

**Derek Hale: you fell asleep in the car. Hope you got some well deserved rest**

**Derek Hale: I go for drives almost every night. You are always welcome**

**Me: thanks. Might take you up on that**

 

And she does.

Not every night, but most. If she doesn't want to sleep, or she can't sleep, she just texts Derek, and within minutes he's at the end of her driveway, the Camaro’s engine purring. Sometimes she has to tiptoe past her mom’s room, not that she wants to _hide_ this or anything. But this, whatever _this_ is with Derek, is private. She doesn't want to share him with anyone, doesn't want to explain what's so special about driving around in silence with a broody werewolf.

Except it's not silent anymore. On some nights she'll get in and nineties rock will be blasting, and she thinks she sees tears glimmering in Derek's eyes. Sometimes there's no music, but Derek will ask her about her day, his lips quirking into tiny smiles every now and again. Sometimes they talk about their nightmares, the real ones and the ones that haunt their dreams. Derek tells her about Laura, about his mom, how Peter was before the fire. On those nights Lydia tells him about Jackson, about how she loved him, _why_ she loved him, how he was softer, vulnerable behind closed doors. And they talk about Allison, how she was a hero, how Derek admired her bravery and her capacity for love. How Lydia loved, still loves, her more than anyone she’s ever met.

Some nights they stick to the back roads, driving too fast around sharp turns, getting scared to death by the occasional deer or coyote running in front of them. Once they drove all the way to Sacramento and didn't get back to Beacon Hills until seven in the morning. Lydia had never seen a more beautiful sunrise than the one that cast a rosy glow over Derek's face and turned her hair into flames. Other nights they drive to the ocean and park, watching the black waves crest white before crashing onto the shore.

They talk about everything except themselves. So that's what Lydia thinks about when they lapse into silence, her thoughts drifting to Derek. She imagines the contrast of soft skin covering hard muscles beneath her palms, wonders how long her neck would stay red with beard burn. She thinks he would be a biter, sucking and nibbling, leaving his marks all over her skin. It's not that she wants to _date_ him. She just wants to _know_ him like that, wants his body under her and over her and inside her.

They're parked on a cliff overlooking the ocean, the moon almost full and reflecting on the dark water. It’s now or never, she realizes, and she’s ready to talk about _them_. Maybe.

"I leave tomorrow," Lydia murmurs after a few moments of quiet, twisting the hem of her tank top between her fingers. She can feel Derek watching her, can see him nod out of the corner of her eye.

"You can always call me you know," he says, his voice a soft hum. Lydia squeezes her eyes shut, forcing back the hot tears threatening to break free at the thought of going weeks, months, without being here with Derek. "If the dreams get to be too much."

She swallows hard, peeking hesitantly at him through her lashes. He's sprawled out behind the wheel, one arm tucked behind his head, the other propped up on the open window. Nothing can compare to the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes look silver in the moonlight, how they seem to track across every inch of her face. His chest rises and falls with each breath, and Lydia wants to touch, wants to feel it move beneath her.

"I can't do that to you," she says instead, pulling her lip between her teeth. Derek rolls his eyes, lips quirking into a rare smile.

"You'll be three hours ahead of me, and it's not like I sleep anyways." Lydia lets herself smile back as she reaches for his hand, squeezing his fingers between hers.

"Thanks Der." Pulling her hand back she leans across the center console on her elbows, pressing her lips to his prickly cheek. She bites her lip and pulls back slightly, heart in her throat as she watches Derek. His eyes flick from hers down to her lips, then back up again. And then one of Derek's big hands curls around her ear, and his lips are soft and warm against her own. Lydia sighs into the kiss, pressing one palm over his heart and curling the fingers of her other hand in his hair. "We needed to be in the backseat, like yesterday," she hums as he kisses down her throat, teeth scraping across her collarbone. Surprisingly Derek listens, scrambling into the backseat and pulling her with him. He stretches out on his back, one knee bent, the other foot down on the floor.

He looks wrecked already, eyes wide and dark, lips red and shiny, a flush rising on his cheeks. She wants to get her hands on him, wants to rip his clothes off and feel his skin warm against hers.

"Come here," Derek orders, sitting up only to drag her on top of him, hands hot on the backs of her thighs, sliding up her shorts to knead her ass. A hot surge of desire rolls through her body, and she needs him, needs his tongue in her mouth, needs to be touching him in every way. With a soft moan she captures his lips with hers, opening her mouth when his tongue traces the curve of her bottom lip. She rolls her hips against his, and it seems to ignite a need within Derek. His big hands scrabble at her clothes, pulling her tank over her head and pushing her shorts down her thighs. "I need... I need..." He huffs and curls his hands around her hips, yanking her forward. Lydia yelps and throws out her hands, bracing herself against the window.

"Oh my god," she sighs, throwing her head back at the feel of his tongue between her thighs, one thick finger pushing inside of her. "Derek." His name sounds like a prayer on her lips, and she doesn't care, not when he's making her legs shake, his cheeks and chin scraping deliciously against the inside of her thighs, his fingers curling inside of her, searching for and finding the spot that makes her scream. He groans against her when she starts to push back in time with his fingers, murmuring words she cannot make out. But it doesn't matter, because there's sweat dripping down her spine and her vision is starting to go blurry and all she can think is _don't stop_. And Derek doesn't, not when she squeezes her thighs too tight around his head, not when she curls her fingers too hard in his hair, not when she comes with a shout, her entire body trembling as she collapses, face pressed against the fogged up window.

Derek squirms beneath her, but Lydia can't bring herself to pay attention, to busy trying to get her brain to just _work_ again. Derek Hale just gave her the best orgasm of her life. With his mouth. Without her even _asking_. His hands are gentle this time when they wrap around her hips, tugging her back down his body. Lydia groans at the feel of a hard cock rubbing against her ass, brain already coming back online as Derek kisses her, slow and hot. 

"Can I fuck you," he asks, breath puffing warm and damp against her ear.

"Only if you take off your shirt," Lydia insists, hating the way her voice breaks in the middle. But it doesn't matter, because Derek's already struggling out of his shirt, almost smiling when she laughs and helps him.

He's so big and solid beneath her, abs jumping when she pressing her fingers against them, dusty pink nipples peeking through the dark hair covering his chest. "God you're so hot." She breathes, pushing her hands over his pecs, pressing her fingers into the dips and curves of his broad shoulders.

"Have you seen yourself?" He huffs, but before she can snap back, he's slowly pushing inside her.

Lydia has a moment to regret not actually getting to _see_ his dick before all she can think about is the slow stretch of her body as he fills her. Her still sensitive nerves _sing_ at the contact, drawing a low moan out of her chest. "You okay?" Derek's voice brings her attention back to him, lips swollen and shiny with slick and spit, eyes almost black in the darkness.

"God yeah," she sighs, bracing one hand on his chest as she starts to rock her hips. She's not sure if it's Derek's werewolf senses or if he's just _good_ at this, but he manages to do most of the work, even from the bottom. He guides her to lean back against his bent leg, the angle just right so his cock drags against her clit with each thrust. Lydia throws her head back, unable to keep her moans quiet as she anchors herself with one hand wrapped around his ankle. "Fuck Der." She looks down her body through slitted eyes to find Derek with his own head thrown back, tendons jumping in his neck, sweat glistening on his chest. His hands are curled around her waist, fingers spasming in time with his thrusts. He's beautiful. "Come on Der, fuck me."

"Yeah, yeah," Derek grunts back, increasing the speed and force of each thrust. Lydia lets her head fall, little whimpers slipping between her lips as tension slowly begins to curl around the base of her spine. "Come on, come for me again." Derek murmurs, and she knows that has to be werewolf powers, listening to her heart or smelling her chemo signals. But she can't focus on the science of it right now, not when his fingers are pinching at one of her nipples _hard_ , sending her over the edge, moaning his name.

Derek pulls her down hard, his entire body arching off the seat as he buries himself deep inside her, lips parted in a silent cry. Lydia sighs and curls up on his chest, tucking her face into his neck and listening to the sound of his racing heart. She doesn't know what this means, doesn't know what's going to happen next, doesn't know what Derek wants. But she does know that she's leaving for Rhode Island tomorrow, and that she's not interested in a long term relationship.

And oh yeah, she just had the best sex of her life in the back seat of a car.

Derek definitely gave her something to remember. 


	2. Searching For Something I Can't Reach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title from [Ghost by Halsey ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ao4o-XRU_KM)

_I don't like them innocent_

_I don't want no face fresh_

_Want them wearing leather_

_Begging, let me be your taste test._

_I like the sad eyes, bad guys_

_Mouth full of white lies_

_Kiss me in the corridor,_

_But quick to tell me goodbye._

 

_\- Ghost, Halsey_

* * *

 

 

Rhode Island is… different. The people talk fast and take r’s from some words and add them to the ends of others. Everyone seems to know everyone and they measure distance in time (anything over half an hour requires bathroom breaks) and the roads seem to have more potholes than flat asphalt. But the food is amazing and the beaches are beautiful and she’s been force fed coffee milk and frozen lemonade (Dell’s. Whatever) and she’s starting to fall in love.

Her mom had the majority of her belongings shipped across the country by truck, and the two of them flew out together last week to get her settled. Lydia’s roommate is from Tennessee, with big brown eyes that remind her of Allison and a slow southern drawl that never fails to make her smile. She thinks they might become friends, maybe.

 Scott and Deaton have managed to contact the local (and only) werewolf pack so that Lydia would have a contact if anything supernatural were to happen. She has the alpha’s (a guy named Will) number programmed into her phone, but she has yet to contact him. There’s nothing to say. Hopefully she’ll never have to use it.

Kira has been texting her nonstop since she got off the plane a week ago, little observations about her day, updates about her strange roommate at UCLA. Scott and Stiles both are attending UC Davis, Scott for Animal Science and Stiles for Computer Science and Engineering (although Lydia suspects he’ll change his mind a few times over the next four years). They’ve skyped with her twice so far, once from Scott’s dorm room and once from Stiles’. Missing them is no longer hot tears behind her eyes. It’s changed to a dull pain deep in her chest, an ache she can’t soothe. Seeing their faces on the screen, smiling and laughing, is like a temporary balm, lifting the pain for a few minutes. Malia calls her one night, breaths jagged and jarring over the phone, voice tiny and scared. Lydia talks to her about everything and nothing, until her breathing slows and she stops responding, asleep.

She lasts three weeks before calling Derek. It wasn’t part of her plan, keeping in touch with him. They’d slept together and it had been amazing, life changing even. And then Derek had driven her home and kissed her cheek and she hadn’t talked to him since. But she knew she couldn’t keep the nightmares away forever, and when she wakes up screaming, her roommate terrified and wide eyed, he’s the first person she thinks to call.

“Derek,” she whispers, eyes closed as she slides down the bathroom wall, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“Are you okay?” His voice sounds deeper over the phone, throaty, even though it’s only 11pm in California. “I can hear your heart racing, talk to me.” Lydia drags in another breath, tilts her head back against the tiles, letting the tears drip down her cheeks.

“Allison,” her voice cracks at the end, and it feels like her bones are shattering. “They… Kate, Kate had her strapped down to a table, making her into a berserker, and I, and I couldn’t stop her, I couldn’t do _anything_.” She sucks in a shuddering breath, chest shaking with the sobs she holds in. “I should have saved her, but I couldn’t… Again.”

“Hey, hey, Lydia listen to me,” Derek’s voice is clearer now, forceful. “It was just a dream.  I want you to breathe okay. Just focus on breathing.” Lydia tries to do as he says, listening to the sound of his steady breathing on the other end of the line more than anything. She’s not sure how long she sits there, seconds, minutes, hours until her heart beat finally slows to normal, and she can fill her lungs without feeling like she’s drowning.

“Derek?” She asks softly, unsure if he’s even awake.

“How are you doing?” He replies gently, and Lydia can almost feel his eyes on her, can imagine the gentle slide of his fingers between her own, the warmth of his thumb tracing across her knuckles.

“Thank you.” She says instead of answering the question.

“I told you to call any time.”

Lydia's not sure what to say to that. She can't just tell him that she felt weird about it, that somehow calling him on the phone is even more intimate than driving around in his car. That she didn't want to turn whatever this is into anything more than friends.

"I know. But I'll let you go now-"

"Tell me about Brown," Derek interrupts, soft and demanding. Lydia's lips lift into a smile on their own accord, picturing the way his eyebrows would be raised, daring her to contradict him.

"You sure you're not busy?"

"Just because you're not here doesn't mean I suddenly went back to sleeping soundly princess," he drawls, and Lydia laughs, her entire body relaxing against the bathroom wall. The words begin to flow easily, telling him about her classes and her roommate and how the Atlantic Ocean is somehow totally different from the Pacific. She talks and talks and talks, until her mouth goes dry and her eyes feel heavy and eventually Derek tells her to get some sleep. She only gets in two hours, but it's dreamless.

 

After that night she can't stop thinking about him. The color of his eyes in the moonlight, the heat of his hands on her waist, the scrape of his beard against her thighs, the way he felt inside her. She tries to forget, tries to find someone else to get off with. But no one is able to come close. The boys at school are too inexperienced, they don't know how to make a girl feel good yet, and they tend to still think it's funny to try and make jokes about sandwiches after they come. Others want to cuddle and talk about it, want to share feelings and become attached. The guys she finds at the clubs near campus are usually too drunk to be any good, and bathroom hookups aren't really her thing. (Just because car sex was the best she ever had doesn't mean she's about to lower her standards).

She's just not sure if it's Derek or werewolves in general that have ruined mediocre sex for her.

 

Stiles and Scott visit her on Columbus Day weekend. They invade her dorm room with laughter and hugs, managing to dissolve her roommate into a puddle of blushing goo within minutes. The three of them meet the local pack on a crisp Saturday afternoon, passing by fields of pumpkins and apple orchards to get to their territory. The alpha is nice enough, he seems like a normal guy with dark hair and sparkly blue eyes, and skin weathered by the sun. His wife is a Druid, with soft hands and doe eyes and hugs that smell like lavender. The couple's grown children are apparently both werewolves, though neither are present for their meeting. Will shows them around their farm, shows them how normal of a life their pack (which includes several other families in the area) leads. It's nice, and something settles inside of Lydia, knowing she can call him and have a werewolf by her side within a half an hour.

They spend the rest of the weekend sprawled across Lydia's bed, watching movies on her laptop and skyping with Malia and Kira and Liam. Lydia's surprised when Scott makes a point to call Derek every night, speaking in hushed tones that seem to indicate that it's just as much a pack business call as a social one. Scott’s eyes are curious when he hangs up, flicking over Lydia with interest, but he doesn't say anything.

When Scott and Stiles leave, they take a chunk of her heart with them.

 

Three weeks later, her phone rings at one in the morning. She's out at a club, pressed between a wall and a guy she met twenty minutes aho on the dance floor, his lips mouthing sloppily at her shoulder. Seeing Derek's name on her phone, she slips away, not caring when the guy yells after her.

"Derek?"

"Lydia." His voice sounds _off_ , too faint, too unsure.

"Derek. What's going on?" Her heart starts to race in her chest as she pushes outside, the cool fall air doing nothing to calm her down.

"I can't... I think I'm dreaming." He says slowly, hesitantly. Lydia bites down on her initial response of: _of course you're not dreaming, you're talking to me dumbass_. Instead she thinks back on the articles she read on lucid dreaming, trying to remember anything that would help him.

"It's okay Der," she replies gently, wishing she could touch him, could wrap her fingers around his wrist, could rub her thumb across his pulse. "Find a book or a paper and read a paragraph for me."

"What is that even going to-"

"Derek please," she cuts him off, fingers clenching hard around her phone. He sighs and the sound of pages turning filters over the line.

" _In the village of Dodow near Wittenburg there lived an old woman who possessed a fox strap. With its help she could transform herself into a fox, and thus her table never lacked for geese, ducks, and all kinds of poultry_...." He trails off, and Lydia breathes a sigh of relief.

"You're awake. You wouldn't be able to read if you were dreaming." She explains, only half paying attention as she wanders through the dark streets towards her dorm. Derek just breathes on the other end, and maybe it should've been creepy, but it just reminds her of those summer nights, flying down back roads by his side. "Are werewolves naturally better at sex than humans?" She asks in an attempt to distract herself from the _feelings_ constricting in her chest. Derek's surprised laugh is loud in her ear, and she can't help the smile lifting her lips.

"What, did you turn into Stiles on the two months you've been gone?" He asks, and Lydia can envision the curl of his mouth, the dimples cut into his cheeks.

"This is a serious, scientific question Mr. Hale." She snaps, flipping off a car that honks at her when she crosses the street.

"Okay then Ms. Martin," he replies, voice light and teasing. "Are we talking men or women here?" Lydia feels her eyebrows jump, and suddenly she's thinking about Derek with _guys_ , double the muscle and the hair and the dicks. Her face feels hot and she shakes her head to clear it, attempting to keep her voice even.

"Well if you've got conclusions on both, let's hear it." Derek chuckles again, and it brings the smile back to her face.

"Well, I slept with a male Druid once, he was the best on the guy side," he hums in thought. "As for the women, definitely human. Was the best. I mean." His words turn nervous, choppy. "I think it depends more on the person and less on the species." Lydia can't help but wonder if she is his best, or if it was Braeden, or another woman she'd never heard of. She knows it's jealousy, curling hot and sour in the pit of her stomach, but she tries to ignore it. "What conclusions have you come to Ms. Martin?" Derek's voice is smooth again, warm.

"Werewolf." She says quickly, too quickly. "Although some are better than others. I think college boys are just the _worst_."  She thinks she hears what might be a growl come over the line, but she can't be sure as she unlocks her door and slips into her dorm. Her roommate is at her boyfriend’s, so she flops dramatically across her bed, feeling brave. "It was you, you know..." She admits softly, shoes slipping off her feet to clatter on the floor.

"Oh yeah?" Derek says, voice thick and low.

"Yeah," Lydia sighs, trails her fingers along the neckline of her dress, wiggles her toes in the air. "I think about it a lot... About your hands and your mouth… Was it good for you?" She knows how she sounds, her words deep and throaty as her fingers trace intricate patterns against her skin.

"God yeah Lydia," Derek half moans, and it sends little thrills down her spine, makes her clench her thighs together. "Think about you all the time, sometimes I can still smell you in my car, can almost taste you." Lydia groans, squeezing her eyes shut as her toes curl against the blankets. God she wishes he was here with her, or she was there with him. She wants to feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath hers, wants to smell his soap and feel his tongue against her skin.

"Derek," she breathes, giving in and putting her phone on speaker, setting it beside her on the bed and pushing her panties down and off. "Tell me what you want to do to me."

"Really?" Derek huffs. "We're doing this?"  Lydia rolls her eyes, because she can _hear_ that he's affected too, can imagine too many teeth in his mouth and eyes flashing blue.

"I'll hang up then." She snaps, grinning at the instant,

"No!" from his end. She can hear some rustling and then creaking, and she assumes he's lying on his bed. "Just uh... Are you touching yourself?"

"Yeah," she sighs, slowly pushing one finger inside. "Wish it was you." Derek groans, and it's sinful and naughty and makes her _want_. "Want you to fuck me against a wall, I know you could hold me up, want you to fuck me on the hood of your car, want to get my mouth on your cock while you're driving, and see how good those werewolf reflexes really are."

"God Lydia," Derek moans, and she can hear the slick sound of skin on skin over the line, knows he has to be jerking himself fast. She moves her own hand faster, rubbing furiously at her clit, muscles in her legs tightening. "I'd be so good for you Lydia, want to watch you come every night, want to bring you to the edge and back again, over and over until you beg." He pants into the phone, and Lydia can almost feel his hot breath against her ear, imagines hands twice the size of her own sliding across her skin in long slow drags. “Wish I could see you right now,” he says, breathless. “Want to taste you, every inch.” She remembers the warm insistence of his tongue on her clit, the way it made her shake and fall apart.

"Your mouth Der," Lydia groans before crying out, orgasm surprising her and making her body arch as she comes, fingers curling hard against inside herself.

"Oh fuck," Derek sighs on the other end, and she can hear the bed creak, then just the sound of his breathing, coming in short pants. "You still there?"

"Yeah."

"I uh... That was..."

"It was hot Derek. That's what it was." Her limbs feel heavy and she wants to curl up and sleep, wrapped up in the warmth of her comforter.

"Yeah," Derek sighs, and he sounds so happy, so content. Something twinges in Lydia's gut, but she ignores it, brain to hazy with post orgasm bliss to really think about it. "I don't think I'll have trouble sleeping now."

"Yeah," she huffs, lips curving up into a lazy smile. "G'night Der, sweet dreams." She thinks he sighs again, before murmuring so softly she almost misses it.

"Night Lyds, don't let the bedbugs bite."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Also, I appreciate all of your kind comments and support on the first chapter. It means so much to me to have so many people in my corner and enjoying my writing. So thank you all again ♥


	3. A Love Like Religion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BASICALLY THIS IS ALMOST 7K of PORN SO... apologies if necessary? Idk I think we all knew this whole thing is just porn anyways, but I hope ya'll enjoy! (there's feelings at the end as can be expected with me)
> 
> Chapter Title from [Coming Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRXO77hJGKA) by Halsey, which is my new Dydia theme song in case you couldn't tell.

_I found a martyr_

_He told me that I'd never_

_With his educated eyes_

_And his head between my thighs_

_I found a savior_

_I don't think he remembers_

_'Cause he's off to pay his crimes_

_And he's got no time for mine_

_\- Coming Down, Halsey_

 

Lydia flies back to California the day before Thanksgiving. Kira's waiting for her, face splitting into a wide smile when she spots her. The drive back to Beacon Hills is filled with chatter, catching each other up on school and all the pack drama that's happened in the last three months. Being with Kira is soothing almost, and for the first time in weeks she is able to let her guard down. She doesn't have to be anything but herself around the pack, doesn't have to worry about accidentally slipping up and talking about the supernatural in conversation, doesn't have to act like she hasn't experienced more horrors than any average nineteen year old should have. Kira drops her at her house with promises of meeting up after Thanksgiving dinner, beeping the horn merrily before heading towards her own home.

She catches up with her mom, sprawled out across the couch with her head in her lap, fingers carding soothingly through her hair. Something else settles into place then. She hadn't realized how much she missed her mother, how much she needed the calm that comes with spending time at home. Even so, her mind is elsewhere.

Derek hasn't called her since that night, although he did text her every couple of days to check in. It doesn't matter though. Lydia still falls asleep thinking about his voice in her ear, imagining the heat of his body against hers, the strength of his hands and the curve of his mouth. Her dreams have been filled with dark hair and almost green eyes, feral grins and fangs and panted breaths. She's wound tight, wanting, _needing_.

She manages to make it until ten that night before she gives in and decides she's going to go to his apartment. This time she's deliberate about it, carefully curling her hair so it bounces over one shoulder, painting her lips and lining her eyes. She puts on matching pink bra and panties, slips into a little black dress and hot pink high heels. Her mother just raises an eyebrow when she stalks past her open bedroom door, lips curling into a smirk.

"Be safe!" She yells as Lydia heads down the stairs, evidently finding herself entertaining enough to _laugh_. Moms are the worst sometimes.

Even the comfort of finally having her car back isn't enough to totally quell her nerves. It's not that she's worried Derek won't want her, she knows that's not the case. But they aren't exclusive or anything, she's made sure of that. So in all reality Derek could have a girl over. _Or a guy_ , her brain supplies oh so helpfully. Her face feels hot again, a mix of arousal and shame, blood running warm with the idea of Derek with a guy. She knows there's nothing to be ashamed of, she's allowed to watch whatever kind of porn she wants, and there’s nothing wrong with getting turned on by the thought of two men together. But it feels like crossing some kind of line, imagining Derek with anyone but herself. She shakes herself out of it as she parks in front of Derek's building, grinning at his Camaro parked innocently next to his mom car.

Not bothering to bring anything but her cell phone, she climbs the stairs to the loft. The stairwell is better lit than she remembers, everything seems clean and bright and dare she say _normal_. She pauses in front of the door, considers knocking before just rolling it open with both hands. He should have heard her coming anyways.

The loft looks... different. She hasn't been there in ages, since the last time she had screamed for Derek. There's actually a kitchen, complete with a center island and marble countertops and stainless steel appliances. A bowl of fruit sits innocently in the center of a large dining room table, with enough seating for ten. The big bay window is now _clean_ and accented with curtains that scream of Melissa's influence. Derek's bed is blocked off slightly with a divider made to look like multi colored glass, just a hint of pale blue sheets and an actual comforter visible from her vantage point.

Derek himself is sitting in an easy chair that matches the huge L couch, deep chestnut leather and comfortable looking. His socked feet rest on an honest to god ottoman, and he's watching her with a smug smirk on his dumb face. The whole things tilts her on her axis, makes her feel unbalanced.

"Is anyone here?" She asks in lieu of a greeting, sliding the door closed behind her.

"No..." Derek replies cautiously, chin tilting and eyes narrowing like a confused puppy. Lydia kind of wants to squish his face. Instead she just grins and flicks the deadbolt across the door before turning to face him directly. She can see the moment he catches on, his whole posture loosening as he leans back into his chair, pupils dilated as his eyes flick up and down her body.

His gaze makes her want to duck her head, want and desire and butterflies dancing low in her belly. Forcing herself to remain outwardly confident she stalks towards him, climbing into his lap with as much grace as she can muster. She's rewarded with big, hot hands curling around the backs of her thighs, sliding up beneath her dress to grip her ass and stubble scraping the soft skin of her breasts. His mouth is hot and needy on her neck until he brings one hand up to curl around the back of her head, pulling her down into a desperate kiss. Lydia runs one hand through his hair, the other curling in the fabric of his shirt, trying to ground herself to _something_. It doesn't really work, because soon she pulling on it, desperately trying to get him to take it off. Derek huffs out a laugh and leans back, tugging the shirt off and tossing it behind him, dropping his hands only to pull her dress over her head in one smooth motion. He's touching her again in an instant, fingers curling around her hips, tracing up and down her back. Lydia blinks down at him for a second, pink lipstick smeared all around his mouth, raven hair tousled almost artfully. He's gorgeous.

"Hi." She says finally, resting one hand over his heart as she presses a gentle kiss to his bottom lip.

"Hi." Derek mimics against her mouth, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her flush against his chest. "Missed you." He murmurs, biting at her chin, one hand sliding down the back of her panties.

"Yeah," she half moans, grinding down into his lap, already looking for friction. "You gonna fuck me against a wall or what?" She grins when his dick twitches beneath her in his sweats, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Wait, wait, wait." She slides out of his grip, dropping to her knees on the floor between his legs.

"You don't..." Derek trails off as she pulls his sweats down his thighs, his hard cock bouncing free and slapping against his stomach.

"Fuck," she sighs, wrapping her hand around it and stroking, watching the foreskin move with fascination. He's big, but not _too_ big, perfect really, flushed an angry red with a thick vein running up the bottom. She traces it with the tip of her tongue, swirling it around the tip, ears burning when Derek swears breathlessly above her. One of his hands is already in her hair, gently gathering it as the base of her neck. It's so _tender,_ Lydia almost doesn't know what to do. So she just takes him fully into her mouth, sinking down as far as she can. His fingers tighten briefly in her hair, and his hips twitch minutely. Just the idea of Derek losing control makes her blood run hot, thighs clenching. She pulls off only to sink back down, this time watching him through her lashes, feeling powerful as his fangs peek between his lips.

"Jesus Lydia," he growls thickly, long fingers curling around the back of her neck and hooking the hinge of her jaw, tugging her gently back. She goes with it, pulling off slowly, allowing a string of saliva to stretch between her bottom lip and his dick. "You're gonna kill me," he groans, standing up and scooping her into his arms in an impossibly smooth motion. "Pretty sure you want me to last long enough to fuck you right?" He grumbles as Lydia laughs into his neck, hooking her legs around his hips. She vaguely registers him holding her up with one arm while digging around in his bedside table with the other, but she is too focused on the slide of his dick against the silk of her panties and the slightly salty taste of his neck under her tongue. "Hold this." He orders, shoving something against the hand she has resting on his shoulder. Lydia obeys blindly, curling her fingers around what she realizes slowly is a condom packet.

"A condom?" She asks, pulling back to look at his face.

"Yeah," Derek grunts, and then suddenly her back is pressed against cool glass, in a sharp contrast to Derek's warm body against her front. "I don't trust birth control." Lydia would shrug in agreement, but his fingers are unclasping her bra and there's the faintest sensation of claws on her ass and she just knows her panties are soaked through. Her bra falls away and Derek hikes her higher up against the window, mouth closing greedily around one of her nipples.

"Fuck," she swears as her back arches, the pane dividers digging into her shoulders. It occurs to her that anyone outside could see this, could see her getting fucked, could eventually see her bare ass pressed against the glass. All it does is send white hot arousal coursing through her, settling at the base of her spine. When she looks up Derek is grinning at her, like he _knows_ what just caused her heart skip a beat.

Before she can even bring herself to snap at him he's setting her feet gently on the ground and kneeling in front of her. His thick fingers hook in the waistband of her panties, sliding them slowly down her thighs. She falls back against the glass, allowing him to lift her feet off the ground one by one, carefully removing her panties while leaving on her heels.

"Look at you," he murmurs, sliding his slowly back up her legs. They stop just at the crease of her thighs, and Lydia feels breathless, heart in her throat as he looks up at her through his lashes. She's expecting him to bury his face between her thighs, to suck on her clit and fuck her with his tongue. Instead he pushes one finger inside her, letting out a low moan before adding another. "So good for me Lydia." He murmurs, pushing himself to his feet and lifting her with his free arm. Lydia hooks her legs around his hips again, biting at his bottom lip until he moans, his fingers still slowly pumping in and out. "You still got that condom?"

Nodding, Lydia leans back against the window and rips open the foil, rolling the condom on with an efficiency that makes Derek raise his eyebrows. She just grins and spits into her hand, stroking him a few times to slick him up. "Get rid of the judgey- fuck!" Her head drops back against the glass when he pushes unexpectedly inside of her. She scrabbles at his shoulders, winding her fingers through his hair and holding his face to her neck, breath hitching with every thrust. It's good, so good, filling her and stretching her and sending little zings of pleasure up and down her spine. It's good, but it's not quite enough. "Derek," she whines, trying to force her hips down against his _harder_. "I need, I need," she pushes one hand between them, reaching for her clit, only to have Derek grab her wrist, stopping her.

"I've got you," he murmurs, but then he pulls out completely.

"What are you....?”

"Shhhhh," he hushes her, kissing the corner of her mouth as he slowly lowers her to the ground again.

"Derek I-"

"Trust me," he murmurs, before spinning her around. "Brace your hands on the window," he orders, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. "There's a reason I left your shoes on." His hands slide down her sides, curling around her hips and shuffling her back a step. "You're too short otherwise." Lydia huffs, ready to dispute his claims about her being too short for anything, but he's pushing back inside her from behind, every nerve lighting up with pleasure.

"Oh my god," she moans, resting her forehead against the cool glass.

"I prefer Derek," he replies, pressing his smirk against her neck as he leans over her, chest warm against her back, big hands covering her own on the window. Lydia wants to make some sort of snarky comment, but he snaps his hips against hers, hitting _that spot_ again. So she just moans low and pushes back against him, lets him bite and suck at her shoulders. "You feel so good Lyds," he murmurs against her ear, slipping one hand down to grip her hip.

Lydia just moans, the pressure building inside her, curling around her spine and making her legs shake. She's not sure if she can take it, not sure if she can come down from this high up.

"Derek," she breathes, letting out a little cry when he circles his hips. "Derek I can't, I can't, I'm gonna, I don't...."

"I got you," he repeats, cinching an arm around her waist to hold her up. "I got you, you just gotta come for me baby." He circles his hips again, and it's like a constant pleasure instead of a shock of it, her toes curling in her shoes. It's still too much, but Derek wants her to come, and she wants to make Derek happy. "Come on baby, come for me," Derek growls into her ear, snapping his hips once more before circling them slow. "Fuck Lyds, come on my dick baby." He bites down hard on her shoulder and that's all she can take, she just _lets go_. She's pretty sure she screams, but everything gets a bit fuzzy, overtaken by the waves of pleasure flooding her brain and Derek's dick thrusting erratically inside her before he comes silently, big body tense and shaking.

When she can finally think again, she's pressed against the window with Derek's lips mouthing lazily at her neck. There's wetness dripping down the inside of her thighs, and she's unsure why.

"Did the condom break?" She asks hoarsely, wincing as Derek slips out of her.

"Nah," Derek replies, sounding smug. She turns to glare at him over her shoulder, watching as he carefully removes the condom and knots it, tossing it in a can beside his bed. "You just came really hard." He scoops her up and places her gently on the bed, sliding down her body to lick at what she now realizes is her own juices on her thighs. "So fuckin’ hot." She lifts her head only to find him looking up her body at her, eyes dark and hooded and heated.

"Fuck me," she groans, collapsing back onto the pillows. She thinks she hears Derek laugh, and that alone is enough to bring a smile to her face.

"Gladly," he crawls back up her body, biting at her hip, kissing her belly button, sucking on first one nipple and then the other. "You tell me when you're ready princess." And _that_ is his hard cock resting against her thigh, _already_.

"Fucking werewolves," Lydia grumbles, even as she pulls him down into a slow, hot kiss.

 

* * *

Lydia doesn't get home until 3am, falling into bed feeling fucked out and pleasantly raw. She sleeps until noon, dragging herself into the shower so that she and her mom can join the Stilinski's and the Tate's at the McCall’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. She manages to hide her surprise at seeing Derek sprawled on the couch next to the Sheriff in between getting hugged within an inch of her life by Scott, Stiles and Malia.

Dinner is great, even if she does lose her train of thought a couple of times, distracted by the angle of Derek's nose (thinking of it dragging against her thighs), the curl of his fingers around his fork (imagining them fucking inside of, tracing her lips, sinking into her mouth) and the way his shoulders flex in his sweater (remembering the angry red scratches she’d placed there, only for them to heal in an instant). And she knows he's distracted too, can see the way his eyes dip to her lips, her breasts, the hickeys they both know are covered by the sleeves of her dress. No one else seems to notice, and dinner goes smoothly, full of laughter and good food.

No one seems to notice when they too easily volunteer to go pick up more soda at the store either, returning almost two hours later with mussed hair and flushed cheeks.

Lydia goes shopping with Stiles and Kira on Black Friday, but she goes to Derek's that night and the following night too, and by the time she finally gets on the plane to go back to Rhode Island she _might_ be walking like she's gotten fucked six ways to Sunday.

 

The three weeks between Thanksgiving and winter break seem to crawl by. Her professors are piling on the work in preparation of the end of the semester, and all she can think about is going back home. Derek is... Derek is an amazing lay, with his muscles and his hips and his tongue. He makes her come so hard she shakes, with his mouth and his hands and his cock. Even from three thousand miles away he turns her on, whispering all the dirty things he wants to do her into her ear, growling her name when he comes. And if sometimes he stays on the phone while he edits her papers for her, or asks her about her day, or texts her almost every morning, it doesn't mean _anything_. They're just fuck buddies, nothing more.

 

And maybe she dreams about him at night, and fingers herself in the shower thinking about his face between her thighs, and fantasizes about him waiting for her in her bedroom for the whole plane ride home. Instead she gets Scott bouncing on the balls of his feet at baggage claim, babbling about the pack get-together he planned that night. And Lydia loves Scott, she does, but she can't bring herself to be excited when all she wants is Derek's hands all over her. And then her phone vibrates in her pocket.

 

**Derek Hale: I'll pick you up later**

 

And she definitely doesn’t _grin_ or anything like that. Nope. Not at all.

 

So maybe she spends way too long on her hair and makeup. And maybe she agonizes over what she's going to wear. And maybe the doorbell’s ringing and her mother’s answering it and she has to pull on a pair of yoga pants and a sweater and run down the stairs.

"So you're the reason my daughter was walking funny last time she was home." She hears her mom state as she races towards the door.

"Mom seriously?" She hisses, squeezing out the door to stand in front of Derek. When she glances up at him he looks concerned, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth down turned.

"Did I hurt you? Why didn't you tell me?" He murmurs, his hand curling gently around her arm. Lydia rolls her eyes and gets ready to tell him that he never hurt her, only to have her mother beat her too it.

"I didn't say she was hurt young man." Her mom grins, and Lydia instinctively backs up against Derek, pushing him towards the steps. "I remember what it was like to have a lover like that. Big and burly like you."

"Oh my god," Lydia groans, grabbing Derek's hand and dragging him off the porch. "Just go back inside Mom!"

"Make good choices!" Her mom yells, before closing the door with a loud cackle.

 

They're silent on the ride to Scott's, but it's not uncomfortable. Derek hums along to the radio, his face lit up in the red and white dashboard lights. It's so much like that first night in July, except now Derek looks happier, more content. He looks like he's been sleeping.

For some reason her throat feels tight, and she begins to _think_. She thinks about talking on the phone with him for hours, thinks about the gentle way he kisses her neck when he fucks her, how she thinks about him all the time, the way jealousy curls up around her heart, hot and sour, whenever she thinks about him with someone else. Even her mom had referred to him as her _lover_ (the fact that her mother used that word alone is mortifying).

"Hey we're here," Derek's soft voice and his hand on her knee breaks her out of her thoughts. She forces a smile onto her face as they let themselves into the Scott’s house, hoping her inner turmoil isn't manifesting itself in physical ways. It seems that any possible reaction to their joint arrival is overridden by the excitement of reuniting, and Lydia allows herself to relax.

Being surrounded by her friends has a certain security to it. She feels safe and comfortable, with her legs in Malia’s lap and her head on Scott’s shoulder. There’s pizza and lots of arguing about movies and blankets and who’s going to sit where, and Lydia wouldn’t want it any other way. She even manages _not_ to get distracted by Derek, purposefully angling herself so she can’t “accidentally” make eye contact with him or anything like that. It might be kind of rude, but she’s prepared to make it up to him. With her mouth.

Of course, she should've known it couldn't be this easy. Malia's waiting for her when she steps out of the bathroom, not even attempting nonchalance as she hovers in the middle of the hallway.

"It's all yours," Lydia gestures towards the darkened bathroom, hoping that's all her friend is doing.

"I don't have to pee." Malia says, taking a step forward, into Lydia's space. Great. "Has Derek asked you to be his mate yet?" Her heart feels like it freezes in her chest, before jump starting again at twice the speed. What. The. Hell. She glares at Malia and grabs her wrist, dragging her down the hall and up the stairs to Scott's bedroom. Or well, Malia lets her drag her along.

"What are you even talking about?" She hisses after the door is locked securely behind them, turning to face Malia with her hands on her hips. "I'm pretty sure that's not even a thing." Malia's frown deepens, more out of confusion than anything else.

"Of course it's a thing. Stiles is my mate just like Kira is Scott's."

Lydia sighs deeply, holding back from pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Yes I know, but we've talked about this. Humans sometimes have more than one mate, sometimes they fall out of love, sometimes they just have sex for fun, without committing to anything."

Malia huffs in annoyance, going so far as to roll her eyes. Lydia raises her eyebrows, a little taken aback by her reaction.

"Well it know _that_ , I'm not dumb." She snaps, mirroring Lydia's pose with her hands on her hips.

"Then why do you think Derek wants be to be his..."

"Mate." Malia supplies with a smirk.

"I'm not calling it that, you're the only one who says that!" Lydia snaps back, this time allowing herself to roll her eyes. "We just have really, _really_ good sex. There's no feelings involved."

"That was a lie." Malia says smugly, pushing past her and reaching for the door. "And you're not the only one stinking the place up with your feelings."

And that... Lydia doesn't know what to do with that. Part of her is terrified, angry almost. She didn't sign up for this, she wasn't looking for a relationship, a commitment. Then there's the part of her that resigned, eyes rolling, knows she should’ve seen this coming. Lydia has two modes when it comes to sexual relationships. They either mean nothing or _everything._ She should have known that something with Derek could never be _nothing_. She can't... She's not sure she can handle another _everything_. The last time she had an _everything_ was Jackson, and she watched him die, once on the lacrosse field, once in her arms. She watched him turn into a monster, watched his free will be taken away from him. And then he left her here, alone. Aiden was on his way to becoming an _everything,_ as much as she tried to fight it. That had only ended in bloodshed and tears. She's not sure she's ready for the end of this everything.

Maybe she doesn't want it to end.

There's another part of her, the leftover pieces of the twelve year old Lydia Martin, before her parents started fighting, before fairy tales were real and no longer happy. She's thrilled at the idea of Derek wanting her like this, she's over the moon with the thought of _love_.

Just thinking the word makes her stomach twist, with nerves or excitement she's unsure. She tries to pinpoint when this happened, tries to pick out the event, whatever Derek did to set these feelings in motion. Was it when he offered to edit her term papers? Or maybe when they fucked in his easy chair, slow and easy and face to face. Maybe it happened during one of their phone calls, in between panting each other's names and sighing. It could have begun in the backseat of his car, or maybe the first time she slid into that soft leather seat.

Maybe it was inevitable.

Sighing, she carefully composes herself before striding confidently back down the stairs. Derek's the only one who looks up when she pauses behind the couch, his eyes a soft mossy green as they flick over her face with concern.

"You okay?" He murmurs, reaching along the back of the couch to cover her hand with his. His touch is comforting, she realizes with a jolt, her entire body swaying instinctively towards his.

"Actually, um, I'm feeling a little funny, would you mind bringing me home?" She presses a hand to her lower belly, not even having to lie. This whole _feelings revelation_ she's got going on has her feeling nauseous.

"Yeah of course ba- Lyds."

Malia lets out a snort from where she's curled up with Kira in a nest of blankets on the floor, and Lydia has to fight to not acknowledge her, her eyebrow twitching. Derek however, does shot a glare at his cousin as he levers himself off the couch. There's a few murmured goodbyes as he steps carefully over the bodies sprawled on the floor, everyone too sleepy or focused on the movie playing to pay much attention. Except for Malia of course, whose leering and smirking has managed to draw Scott’s attention.

"Text me when you get home," the alpha orders sleepily, causing Malia to grin widely. Since when has she been so obnoxious? Of course, she probably learned half of it from Lydia herself, the other half coming from Stiles. It should be expected for her to be a little bit annoying. Lydia is not impressed.

"Yes dear," she drawls over her shoulder, letting Derek guide her towards the door with a warm hand pressed against the small of her back. The night air is mild for December, the sky clear and the half-moon shining brightly above them. It's a beautiful night, and it only serves to make her stomach twist. It's too perfect, perfect weather and a perfect car and a perfect guy. Getting into Derek's car is significant suddenly. It's _everything_.

Derek pauses at the passenger door, and for a moment she thinks he's going to open it for her. He would, he's done it before, pulling the unapologetically chivalrous card. But instead he grins at her, dangling his keys from his fingers like a dare.

"Wanna drive?" His grin only grows wider when she narrows her eyes and snatches the keys, stomping around the hood to the driver’s side (her stomping really isn't as effective in Uggs compared to her pumps, but she's wearing yoga pants and didn't have much of a choice). As she throws open the door it occurs to her that she doesn't actually know how to drive a stick shift. She understands the mechanics of it of course, knows theoretically what she's supposed to do, but this is _Derek's_ car.

She has to pull the seat forward almost a foot before she can reach the pedals, and it feels like she's sitting too low, straining to see over the steering wheel. Derek's practically _giggling_ in the passenger seat, his entire body trembling with silent laughter. She grits her teeth and starts the engine, flexing her fingers around the wheel as the entire car seems to vibrate beneath her. Derek is still laughing, and she wishes he wasn't, wishes she could admit she's nervous instead of letting her competitive streak take over. She curls the fingers of her right hand around the shifter, stilling when a much larger hand settles over it.

"I'll teach you, okay?" Derek murmurs softly, and then he’s turning her face towards his with gentle fingers, lips closing over hers slow and hot. Lydia moans low in her throat, lifting her hands to his shoulders and twisting her fingers in his hair. She knows they shouldn't be doing this, knows that anyone could look out the window and see them, knows that Derek has to know that too. Which means... Maybe Malia is right.

The realization brings her nerves back to the forefront and she pulls back, one hand still fisted in his jacket.

"I've never driven a manual before," she admits, voice coming out more breathy than she intended. Derek smiles, this slow and easy thing that makes her blood feel warm and honeyed in her veins.

"It's alright," he replies, thumb sliding slowly across her bottom lip. "I trust you."

It's like someone hit pause, the world coming to a screeching halt.

Because trust, _trust_ is everything to Derek. Derek Hale doesn't just give his trust away, and she knows it's _just_ his car, but it feels like _everything_.

"Yeah?" She whispers, the world spinning back into motion, and all she can see is the sparkle of his eyes and the gentle curve of his lips as he nods almost shyly.

She is done for.

Derek doesn't seem at all surprised when she drives (rather successfully she might add) to the loft instead of her mom’s, only grinning proudly when she finally parks in his usual spot. They climb the stairs to the loft together, every brush of their hands sends tingles up Lydia's arm, making her cheeks heat with embarrassment. Derek has to know, has to hear the erratic beating of her heart and sense her nerves jangling.

"You going to tell me what's the matter with you?" He asks as he unlocks and slides open the door, letting her walk in in front of him. Lydia stares at the kitchen cabinets, realizing she _knows_ where he keeps his extra paper towels, knows the dishes are in the middle cupboard, knows he keeps a stash of thin mints in the freezer. She clamps her teeth down on her bottom lip and begins to pace, her fingers curling around her ends of her sleeves.

Derek throws his jacket onto the coat tree just inside the door and toes out of his shoes, padding silently into the living room. She watches him out of the corner of her eye as he settles into his chair, socked feet propped up on the ottoman. He seems prepared for the long haul, fingers steepled in front of his face, careful eyes tracking her every move. And God, she wants to climb into his lap, wants to kiss his lips, his nose, his eyelids. She wants to curl up against his chest and tuck her head against his neck and fall asleep. With her clothes still _on_.

"Derek I-" she stops, forcing herself to stand in front of him, feeling small. 

"Hey come here," he whispers, leaning forward and pulling her gently into his lap, curling her against him just like she'd imagined. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He's giving her an easy out. She could take it, could kiss him hard and desperate, could have him naked and thrusting inside of her within minutes. But Derek trusts her. She has to tell him.

"I... I want this," she says quietly, patting absently at his chest.

"You have this."

"No I mean," she sighs and sits up, straddling his thighs. "I want _you_. I want to fall asleep on the couch with you and go Christmas shopping with you and I want you to meet my asshole of a father. I want to stay overnight in your bed and wake up with you in the morning and I want to hold your hand." Derek's frowning just slightly, and Lydia can't help but lift a finger to the crease between his brows, smoothing it softly.

"But I never said you couldn't have any of that," he says slowly, one hand curling around her waist. Lydia blinks at him and what she thinks might be vulnerability swirling in his eyes.

"I want to be able to tell the next guy that tries to ask me out that I have a boyfriend," she chooses her words carefully, pleased with the slight curl of his lips.

"Yeah?" His hands push up beneath the hem of her sweater, pulling her down against him. "Maybe I want to tell Stiles to listen to Malia and stop setting me up on blind dates because I have a girlfriend." He kisses her then, and it's not their best, too many teeth and lips pulled taunt from grinning.

"She's fucking perceptive," Lydia growls against his lips, sucking his bottom lip between her own. Derek huffs out a laugh, kissing the tip of her nose before pulling back just far enough to smirk at her.

“Lydia, will you be my mate?” His smirk disappears, face carefully blank as his eyes flick across her features. It just sounds _dumb_ to her, and she’s pretty sure _no one_ besides Malia would even ask something like that. But she doesn’t want to hurt Derek’s feelings, especially because _mate_ seems to imply something bigger than just girlfriend.

“I…” She pauses, eyes focusing in on the twitch in the corner of Derek’s lips, the way his eyes are crinkling just slightly in the corners. “Oh you asshole.” Derek throws his head back and actually _laughs_ when she smacks his shoulder. He’s never looked more beautiful, eyes sparkling and mouth wide open, the long lines of his neck so enticing. “You’re not supposed to listen in on private conversations.” She grumbles, giving in and pressing her lips and then her teeth to his throat, smirking when he sighs beneath her. “I’m surprised you didn’t freak out and run away.”

“Wow, rude,” Derek huffs against her ear, even as his hands begin in move across her back again, leaving trails of heat in their wake. “And I would’ve but Malia scares me. I tried to get up and she glared at me like she was going to slit my throat.”

“She’s _your_ cousin,” Lydia hums, curling her fingers around his chin and turning his face towards hers. “I’m glad you stayed.” Derek ducks his head before smiling up at her, eyes big and dark and peeking through his lashes. Her heart stutters in her chest and she has to kiss him, has to wrap him in her arms, and has to reduce the space between them to nothing. He meets her with parted lips, his tongue slipping into her mouth with slow strokes, heat surging in her veins, coursing through her body to pool between her thighs.

It’s different somehow, when Derek carries her to his bed, lays her gently on top of the sheets and crawls between her legs. He moves slowly, rolling her sweater up inch by inch, worshipping each sliver of exposed skin with his tongue and lips. By the time he makes it up to her collarbone she’s vibrating with need, but Derek doesn’t seem to notice, his thumbs rubbing soft circles over the lace of her bra, his lips gentle against her own, stubble scraping against her cheeks. The air she drags into her lungs feels syrupy and time seems to slow down to the drag of her knee against his thigh, the soft skin of his back beneath her fingers as she pulls off his shirt. Derek’s tongue slips between her lips as he reaches beneath her to unclasp her bra, pushing it gently to the side before settling his bare chest against hers. It’s unbearably tender, the way his palms cup her face and his nose traces across her cheek.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers almost reverently. Lydia just stares into his eyes, lost in the burst of brown around the pupil that fades to green and then swirls into blue and then gray. She smiles and slides her palm across his cheek, heart close to bursting when he nuzzles into the touch. It’s obvious then, that she loves him. Instead of saying it she shows him, kisses him hot and slow, pushing his jeans off his hips and letting him slide off her own pants. He presses his mouth between her thighs, and she lets him, she knows how much he likes it. She moans his name instead of swearing, anchoring herself with one hand in his hair and the other clenched in the sheets. He brings her to the edge and then she pulls him back up, tasting herself on his lips as she shakily rolls on a condom. This all feels like too much, too big, too overwhelming. But she wants it, and when he pushes inside her, it’s only too perfect.

Lydia’s legs are wrapped around his waist, her hands clutching at his shoulders, twisting in his hair. Derek’s body is hot and huge against hers, touching in every way possible. His eyes are open, watching her with what looks like awe.

“Derek,” she sighs, pulling him down into an open mouthed kiss, her tongue tracing his lips and the tips of his too sharp teeth. “Derek you’re so good.” It sounds stupid, not her best dirty talk, but he shudders anyway, burying his face in her neck as he starts to snap his hips in earnest. Lydia can’t think past the sound of skin against skin and the hot drag of lips against her neck and all she can do is cling to him, nonsense rolling off her lips against his hair. He pulls back just enough to slip one hand between them, holding himself up in one elbow as he rubs frantically at her clit in time with his thrusts. She’s not sure if it’s his dick or his hands or the way his eyes flash bright blue that sends her over the edge, but she comes silently, her entire body tensing before she whites out. She comes to still panting, Derek’s body heavy on top of her, his softening cock still inside.

Smiling to herself she wraps her arms around his neck, humming when he kisses her shoulder. Her eyes flutter closed as her heart beat slows, slowly slipping into a dreamless sleep.

 

Stiles is the only one who seems the least bit surprised when Derek and Lydia show up to Christmas Eve at the Stilinski’s holding hands. Lydia’s pretty sure he’s just mad that he didn’t figure it out before everyone else, but that can probably be blamed on the lack of werewolf senses. Malia is overly pleased with herself, taking _all_ the credit for getting them together.

Lydia doesn’t know how the long distance thing is going to work, but she knows she wants it to work. And if there’s one thing for certain, it’s that Lydia Martin gets what she wants.

Not to mention that Derek’s _really_ _good_ at phone sex. She has big, BIG plans for Skype.

Above all else, she loves him. Even if she hasn’t told him. Yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!   
> Also, I want to thank you all again for all your support after that one rude commenter. One of my friends recently got attacked by the Scerek Anon (this person seems to be a sterek shipper who posts very mean and unnecessary comments on scerek/mchaleinski/sciles and many other fics). After looking at some of the other comments this Anon has left, the one I got, while very tame in comparison to some of the others, can be copied verbatim from some of the messages/comments they send. I have posted a fic with mchaleinski in it, and I have a feeling it stemmed from that. But again, thank you all for being so kind!  
> Come [tumble](http://werewolvesandarrows.tumblr.com) with me!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! Will hopefully post the next chapter within the next couple of days (but life happens so I can't make any promises). 
> 
> Come hang out on [tumblr](http://werewolvesandarrows.tumblr.com) with me!


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